Boyfriend Clothes
by fbeauchamphartz
Summary: Barry calls Len when he can't seem to locate any of his S.T.A.R. Labs sweats, determined that his boyfriend has stolen them, which Len adamantly denies. Coldflash. Barry Allen, Leonard Snart.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Inspired by this post post/140256017006/goldandcold-all-i-want-in-life-is-seeing#notes, except I took it in a little different direction :)**

It's around 10:18 in the evening when Len's cell phone goes off. He looks at it before he answers it, even though the assigned ringtone is a dead giveaway as to who's calling. Besides, only three people have access to this particular cell phone number, and Len happens to be one of them. Regardless, he checks the screen and smirks at the caller ID. Only then does he answer the phone.

"Yel-lo."

"Len," Barry says sternly, the sound of him speedily rummaging through stuff in his apartment clear on Len's end of the call, "did you swipe my sweats?"

"What?" Len answers with a laugh. "Why the _fuck_ do you think I'd do that?"

" _Len_ ," Barry gripes, then mutters _shit_ when he bumps into some piece of furniture that makes a loud rattling noise (Len suspects the three-drawer dresser by the bed, the one with Barry's _secret_ middle drawer), "every time you spend the night, a pair of my sweats walks away."

"So?" Len scoffs. "That doesn't mean I took 'em. Besides, you've got like, what, nine pair?"

"Correction," Barry says, "I _had_ four pair, and they've all mysteriously disappeared."

"Well, why do you need them so bad for anyway?" Len asks. "You have other clothes."

"Yeah," Barry agrees. "I just…I like sleeping in those. I mean, I'm not exactly a pajama person."

"So, does that mean you'll be sleeping…in the _nude_?"

"Len," Barry whines.

"Okay," Len says, "well, just in case you didn't know, your original question offends me for two reasons."

"And they are?"

"First of all, the last time I wore sweats, I was six, and I could not be held accountable for my actions."

"And second?" Barry asks, solely out of morbid curiosity.

"Of all the clothes you own, why in the hell would I swipe those dumb ass S.T.A.R. Labs sweats? Actually, why would I wear _anything_ of yours? Although, that red leather suit you've got I might consider _borrowing_ next time I'm at your place."

"Ha-ha," Barry deadpans. "Funny."

"Look," Len says, "the way I see it, you've got two options. You can either run yourself down to S.T.A.R. Labs and get yourself another pair…"

"Or…" Barry presses when Len doesn't start immediately in on option number two.

"Or…you can run your naked ass down to my place, in which case, you won't need anything to sleep in."

Barry sighs. It sounds tired and frustrated, but Len can hear the smile in it.

"As tempting as that offer is," Barry says, "I'm gonna have to decline."

"Well, you can't blame a guy for tryin'," Len replies.

"Sure, I can," Barry retorts, "seeing as I now get to sleep in a pair of faded Superman pajama pants that have a huge hole in the crotch."

"Now, _that's_ a special look," Len snickers.

"Don't you know it?"

"Just run a couple stitches in it," Len suggests. "We both know you're _good with your hands_."

Barry chuckles. "Sure. Good night, Len."

"Good night, Bare."

Len hangs up, and shoves his phone into the pocket of the pants he's wearing, letting his hand linger in the warm, soft confines of the cotton fleece. He lucked out, because _these_ are new. He glances down his body, smiling slyly at the black sweats, the S.T.A.R. Labs logo emblazoned in stark white across the chest of the shirt, and down one leg of the pants. A petulant mewl draws Len's eyes to the floor. At the foot of the recliner he's relaxing in sits a smaller than normal (in his opinion) black short-haired kitten, with startling ice blue eyes. It's not really his cat - just some obnoxious stray that Lisa feeds even though Len has told her a dozen times not to. But it managed to find a way in (the only living thing that's been able to do so uninvited) so he agreed to let it stay out of professional courtesy. Honor among thieves, so to speak. Except now it seems to think that Len's its best fucking friend.

The furry little bastard never leaves him alone, and lately, it's taken to acting like his conscience.

The kitten meows again, and Len shakes his head.

"Shhh…" he hushes the thing with a finger to his lips, as if him wearing the sweats he pilfered from his oblivious boyfriend is their secret.

The kitten meows louder, this time, Len swears, accusingly, and he gives it a mocking, wide-eyed look of innocence.

"What?" he says to the judgmental feline. "This one has a hoodie." He reaches up and pulls the oversized hood down, covering his face. "No way I wasn't taking it."


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Barry retaliates, and we discover that Len might rather f**k his boyfriend than do something illegal. (Okay, this is just a ridiculous little second part to this because, honestly, I couldn't just let Len win xD)**

Barry chuckles to himself as he gets ready for bed, pulling back the blankets and clumsily climbing underneath, albeit in the space of a millisecond. He chuckles louder as he shimmies down the mattress till his comforter reaches his chin, his cumbersome bedclothes making him too warm, wrapped around him a little too tight, but he knows that if this works the way he wants it to, he won't have to deal with it for long. Barry snorts through his nose when, predictably, his cell phone starts to ring. He glances at the time on the screen. By his calculations, it took precisely 4.3 minutes for Snart to notice. That might be a new record…for Barry, that is. Barry knows his boyfriend's probably fuming, but he doesn't answer right away.

He's laughing too hard.

Barry answers the phone before he brings it to his ear, but even from about a foot away, he can hear Len scream, "Barry Allen! Where the _hell_ is my parka!?"

"Wh-who is this?" Barry snickers, abandoning any pretense of seriousness.

" _Barry_!"

"Len?" Barry asks innocently. "Is that you?"

"It was here five seconds ago!" Len exclaims. "How the _fuck_ did you get it so fast?"

Barry clicks his tongue in offense. "Did you _seriously_ just ask me that question, Snart?"

"I…need…it…back…Barry," Len says, low and slow, frustration punctuating every word. " _Now_!"

"The fact that you _need_ it so badly means you're probably planning on doing something illegal, so excuse me if that doesn't motivate me to return it to you on the ASAP," Barry points out. "And besides, you took _every_ set of sweats I own and left me with nothing to sleep in. By all accounts, you gave me no choice. The parka's mine, Snart. Deal with it."

"But that makes no sense!" Len argues. "You can't sleep in my parka!"

"The hell I can't."

The line goes quiet. Barry expected it. He can almost hear Len thinking, almost see the way his pinched expression becomes blank as realization starts to hit him. Barry doesn't want to start laughing again, not after the tension they built up, so he turns his head, puts a hand over his mouth, and coughs.

"Wait a minute…" Barry hears the familiar creak of leather as Len sits bolt upright in his recliner, the footrest slamming down with a dull _thud,_ and from somewhere in the background, a kitten meowing an objection. "Does that mean you're wearing it _now_?"

"That I am," Barry says proudly, peeking under the comforter at the bulky coat covering his body, needlessly making sure it's still there.

"And what else?"

Barry reflexively raises a brow, not that Len can actually see. "Why don't you take a guess?"

Barry hears Len gulp…then he hears him moan. "Oh, _God_ …"

"I might be willing to trade it back to you," Barry offers, "if you return _two_ pairs of my sweats. Of course, there might also be some _vigorous_ negotiation involved." (Putting Len off whatever other plans he has for this evening, Barry hopes.) Barry waits for a counteroffer, knowing there's one coming (because, with Len, there's _always_ a counter) but he doesn't get one. Instead, he hears a series of knocks and bangs, feet racing down stairs, a door forcefully slamming shut. Barry looks at his phone to make sure the call is still connected, then puts it back to his ear. "Len?" Barry hears a faint, _"Taxi! Taxi!"_ followed by horns honking, speeding by, whining past as they fade into the distance. Barry chuckles, guessing what could be happening on his boyfriend's end of the line. "Len? Are you still there?"

"H-hold up, Barry," Len mutters into the phone, his voice bouncing, panting as if he's running. "I'm (*whistle* _Hey!_ )…I'm coming…I'm…What the _fuck_ does it take to get a taxi in this fucking city!?"


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Len finds a way to checkmate his boyfriend in the battle for clothes stealing supremacy...but he may have an ulterior motive for resorting to drastic measures.**

KNOCK-KNOCK-KNOCK!

"Len!"

KNOCK-KNOCK-KNOCK!

"Len!"

KNOCK-KNOCK-KNOCK- KNOCK-KNOCK-KNOCK!

"Leonard Snart! Open this door _right now_!"

Barry rapid-fire pounds on the door to Len's house, concentrating on staying in check so he doesn't accidentally shatter the thing to smithereens.

"Len, I mean it! Get your ass down here right…"

Before he finishes, he hears the _creak-creak-creak_ of leisurely footsteps sauntering up to the door. Barry stands still and listens, holding back a whole tirade of demands and four-letter words that he doesn't want to unleash if he doesn't have to.

"Why, Barry Allen," Len says smoothly through the wood door without opening it a crack, "how nice of you to stop by. To what do I owe this incredible honor?"

"Len," Barry growls, "you have gone too far!"

"Why, whatever do you mean, Barry?"

"What I mean…" Barry shouts. Then he stops and takes a deep breath. Leonard Snart's safe house is located far enough away from people that no one can understand them too well, but a commotion will get noticed. He doesn't want to attract attention, especially considering what he's wearing. "I have no clothes."

"Wait, what?" Len tries to act confused, but fails around a snicker. "What did you say? I can't…I can't hear you through the door."

"I said," Barry repeats, playing Len's game and raising his voice a notch, "I…have…no…clothes."

"And you want to borrow something of mine?" Len tuts. "But, my dear Barry, I am nowhere near your size. You know I'm so much _bigger_ than you."

"You have my clothes," Barry says, stating the obvious.

"Oh, Barry," Len teases with mirthful condescension. "I thought we'd gotten over the whole _me stealing your sweats_ thing."

"No…no…it's not just the sweats!" Barry stutters. "I have _nothing_! No jeans, no t-shirts, no underwear! You…you…you even took my swimsuit!" Barry barks out a sarcastic chuckle. "Why am I telling you this!? You already know!"

"So, you're telling me you have…"

"Nothing on?" Barry says, asking Len's question for him even though he's wondering why Snart wouldn't know that. He has a hidden peephole in the door. He has to be looking through it. Unless…the asshole just wants to hear Barry say it. Or he's doing something worse, like recording this! Not to leak to the public, just so that he can put it on when they're alone together and really bug the shit out of him. "Not quite."

"What _are_ you wearing?"

Barry steps up to the door in a threatening manner. "Why don't you take a look for yourself and find out?"

Barry expects Len to open the door, but the thing doesn't budge. He hears a shuffle, a tap, and then an, "Oh my God! Are…are those…Cisco's clothes?" Len snorts when he laughs at the too tight game controller print t-shirt and comically short bright green jeans that Barry is wearing.

"Yes," Barry sniffs. "Yes, they are."

"Why didn't you just wear your red suit?" Len asks with a subtle but obnoxious growl.

"Because it's being upgraded at the moment," Barry explains, clenched jaw shaking with the strain of not losing his cool.

"Well…isn't _that_ a special look? You couldn't borrow those pretty little glasses of his? I'd _love_ to get a peek through those."

"Len!"

"Touchy. Why didn't you go buy something else?"

"Because I shouldn't have to!" Barry says with a stomp that almost puts his foot through Len's porch. "I have perfectly good clothes, Goddammit! And I want them back!"

"Alright, alright," Len huffs. "Sheesh…why didn't you just say so."

Barry hears several sets of locks and a handful of chains unlatch, then sees the doorknob turn. Barry pushes his way in when Len opens the door too slowly. He sees Len standing in the entryway of an impeccably clean house (well, clean compared to how it normally looks; not messy, per se - just a little cluttered), which might be considered tame, but Len makes up for that, dressed in Barry's red terry bathrobe, with a small, black kitten curled contentedly in his arms. Len pets the thing dramatically as if he's an evil villain in a comic strip.

"Where are they, Len!?" Barry asks, threat implied, determined not to be derailed by his sexy boyfriend or the presence of an adorable fluffy kitten. "Where are my clothes!?"

"Calm down, Barry," Len coos, running his nose through the fur on top of the kitten's head. "I put them away."

"What do you mean you _put them away_?"

"I mean, I put them in the closet," Len clarifies. "Upstairs in my room," he adds when Barry doesn't appear any more enlightened, "where I'm hoping you'll be willing to spend the night every so often."

Barry's brows shoot up. "You…you're asking me to…move in with you?"

"Well, only part time," Len says, rolling his head on his neck. That gesture is as close to Len expressing bashfulness as Barry has ever seen him, and even then, only rarely. "I know that us moving in together isn't the most practical situation…but spending more time together would be nice."

"You know, if you wanted me to stay here from time to time, I could do it without you dragging all my clothes over," Barry explains, reaching out to pet the kitten himself now that he's calm. "I could run back and forth between my place and yours for anything I needed."

"I know _that_ ," Len says, "but that's not really all that romantic, now, is it? This was mostly a symbolic gesture. A way of saying I like your face. And your naked body. I would like to see them more often, and you being here is the best way for me to do that."

"But…what about you staying over at my place?"

"We can do that, too, except…" Len sighs. It's heavy. It sounds troubled "…I don't want anyone I know tracking your place down…looking for me."

Barry smiles at the purring kitten, recognizing that, for the first time, Len has said something that comes the closest to, "I worry about you," during the entire course of their secret(ish) relationship. Everyone always says that Barry is _the impossible_. Len said one of the reasons he didn't mind dating Barry was because if something is impossible, it can't be beaten.

Apparently, his thoughts on that have changed.

But Len isn't a big fan of showing off his 'vulnerable' side. He doesn't like anyone to think that he cares about anything too much…except for his sister. If Barry gives Len too much time to think about what he just said, he might walk it back. Bearing that in mind, Barry decides to change the subject before Len comes up with an addendum that will completely screw it up.

"So, what's with the robe?" Barry takes a fingertip and runs it down the lapel. "Of all the clothes I own, _that's_ the thing you pick taunt me? I barely even wear it anymore." Barry eyes Len's body hiding beneath the thin material, the terry clinging tight to his shoulders and biceps, the weave stretching over his skin.

"Nope. I wore it for incentive."

"Incentive?"

"Incentive." Len smirks, and gently places the kitten down. Then he unties the belt knotted at his waist and drops the robe, revealing the all of nothing he's wearing underneath.

Once the robe hits the ground, Barry's jaw follows.

"W-wow…" he says. "You…uh…definitely present a very convincing argument."

"Thank you." Len strolls up to Barry, proud and unashamed. That's one of the things that Barry has always admired about Len – his utter confidence in any situation, knowing that he's the baddest bad ass in the room before he even walks in, or that he can take down most guys with his bare hands…even completely undressed. "I've always fancied myself an expert negotiator."

"Maybe we can mull over terms and conditions somewhere a little more private?"

"Somewhere where we can get you out of that ridiculous outfit?" Len tugs up at the hem of Barry's borrowed tee. "Because, I have to tell you, it's killing my, uh, persuasive argument."

"Oh, I don't know," Barry says, reaching for his boyfriend's body, preparing to whisk him upstairs and officially seal their new _arrangement_. "Your argument feels just _fine_ to me."


End file.
